


Stay

by Doitsuki



Series: Stay [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Catatonia, Father/Son Incest, Horror, Incest, M/M, Magic, Multiple Endings, Paralysis, Rape, Trauma, dark!Thranduil - Freeform, god damn, noncon, slight necrophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas wants to see the world. Thranduil cannot bear to lose his son.<br/>He will do whatever it takes to keep his little leaf close.<br/>Anything at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inside

**Author's Note:**

> another writing exercise.  
> I really liked how I wrote 'mortal love' so I'm trying to see if I can write in that style again.  
> *writer's block* it's hard lol

It is late in the Third Age when Legolas first hears of Elrond’s Council. A serious task to be undertaken, or a little adventure for the sheltered prince. How he yearns to feel the wind in his hair, lit gold by the sunlight and brushing past his warm skin! Here in the Woodland Realm, it is not particularly cold but unpleasant nonetheless. He does not know how the Silvan survive.

“I’ve lived among you folk for my entire life and I still don’t get it. Don’t you ever want to go outside?” He asks Galion one day for the voice of the realm and gets a calculated reply.

“Outside is dangerous, ernilen. Has the King not told you of the spiders and orcs roaming our beautiful forest?”

Legolas rolls his eyes. Of _course_ Thranduil would’ve told Galion what to say when spoken to by him. Come to think of it, there wasn’t a single elf that Legolas could have an honest, open conversation with. Everyone watches their words and is careful not to let anything inappropriate slip. No swearing around the prince. No tales of distant lands. Nothing that would awaken his suppressed spirit for adventure and push him to try escaping. He is not able to defy his father just yet as there are too many guards for him to try – but soon, the time will come.

Legolas gives Galion an annoyed squint before turning to leave. There’s no use talking with anyone here. He needs to get out.

 

As is proper, Legolas writes to Elrond on fine paper in the best Tengwar he can manage. _“Dear Lord Elrond, I have heard of your council regarding the fate of the One Ring. I daresay a journey will be undertaken to dispose of such evil, and I wish to come along. My father keeps me in these dark halls all day and my heart yearns to explore. So I’m coming to Rivendell~ Legolas.”_ He draws flowers and leaves along with tiny swirls, rolling up the paper when the ink dries. Thranduil doesn’t write letters to people and has no official wax seals to put on them, so Legolas makes his own. Fresh candlewax imprinted with the hilt of the prince’s ceremonial dagger. It’s recognizable enough as being of Sindarin craft and Elrond is no fool.

‘ _He’ll be expecting me. Now, all I must do is pack.’_

Legolas has had a satchel full of important things ready for the past hundred years. All he needs is food and then he can leave. He knows how to make a bow with just a dagger to carve wood and his own strong hair for string, and can hide smaller weapons in his clothes easily enough. In his room high up above Mirkwood, trees reach to his window with their long, thick leaves. The branches here are too thin for him to climb down safely but at least he can wrap some lembas with these leaves. Sneaky and smooth he creeps to the kitchens to ask for some. Water, not wine, and the buttery goodness of freshly baked lembas. The cooks don’t ask questions of their prince. He wants food, and they give it to him. Once back in his room, everything goes into his satchel.

_‘I don’t need much. Just enough to get me to Rivendell and perhaps some things to tend to potential wounds.’_

Thranduil would never know he’d even left. While Legolas stares outside at the setting sun, his father drinks himself into a stupor to forget his troubles. Things that’ve happened centuries ago – he still remembers them. The touch of his wife against his unmarked skin in the days before he met dragonfire. He remembers. How soothing it felt to press his head against his fathers chest and listen to the whispers of the trees. He remembers. Watching kings, friends and lovers die on the same battlefield while he could not move. He remembers.

 

~

 

Moonlight bathes the Woodland Realm in tones of blue and silver. Gone are the rich, majestic reds and warm yellow shades of the amber-lit halls. Silence fills the caverns for as far as Legolas’s hearing can reach. There are no feasts tonight.

‘ _Maybe I shouldn’t go.’_ He doubts himself from fear alone. ‘ _Something is not right.’_ His soft suede shoes stop in their soundless march along a rocky pathway. The gates ahead loom tall and guarded, but Legolas is prepared to sneak past the sleepy elves. Closer he creeps. Dead and silent, his hair finds no breeze to pick up its golden strands. There is no _air_.

A slow, deliberate shuffling can be heard. So highly-strung are Legolas’s nerves that he twitches, rustling his clothes. Gentle laughter rises in the dark.

“My precious, precious boy. Wherever are you going?” Lilting and sweet, the voice seeps in terrible compression around Legolas’s head. A chill breath freezes in his lungs. His throat is a vice in flesh.

“Ohh… are you lost, love? Come. There is a comfortable bed waiting for you…” Slithering mercury coils up Legolas’s leg and _oh_ , it is a visceral thing. Only Thranduil’s long, silver robes.

‘ _Why are you frightened?’_

“A-Adar. Do not mind me. I am only…”

“Trying to escape…” Thranduil’s interruption pushes a surge of thick oppression over the prince’s strangled words. “Beautiful, sweet Legolas. Why do you run?” He stills himself, fingers resting at his son’s pulse. “Do I not give you enough?”

“No… Adar I have told you, I want to explore. I can’t stay here!.” Every word is forced, shudders wrack his body and he turns slightly.

“I will not let you leave…” Thranduil’s voice is so gentle it reminds Legolas of the father he used to have, caring and kind. But Legolas is afraid. The fixation of Thranduil’s eyes upon him seems to penetrate his soul and incites a response to flee. Cold, dead and grey. Thranduil can hardly see. Yet he knows what he wants, and will not let it slip from his grasp. He clutches Legolas’s throat, head tilted up, lips parted.

“Ah, ion nín. How I love you so.”

_‘You are all I have left.’_

Legolas twitches. His muscles cry. He cannot move. Thranduil smiles and speaks a single, damning word.  
**_“Stay.”_**


	2. Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil will look after his son. He does not want him to feel alone.

Legolas opens his eyes to darkness. No amount of squinting or strain reveals a thing about his surroundings, but he can still feel. Cold silk slides along his flesh. A sudden rush of air screams past his sensitive ears and he is laying upon his back. Weight far greater than his own presses down upon his chest. Still he is without breath.

The commanding voice of his father circles in his head. "Stay."

It is spoken aloud. "Do not leave me."

Legolas wants to run. It is a searing flame in his muscles, a brittle ache in his bones. He has lain here for too long. The acute sensation of blood in his veins comes to his attention. It has been spilled.

"Legolas, pay attention. I want you to promise me you will not try that again." Thranduil leans in a motion unseen, his hair sweeping Legolas's bare chest. His fingers tap at the shackles clamped around stiff, reddened wrists. "You silly boy. You've hurt yourself."

Sickeningly sweet is the scent that rises in the air. Legolas hears something wet slither past his ear. His hands are the only parts of him physically restrained yet he cannot squirm. But he can feel. Thranduil is _kissing_ him. Hot lips against sore flesh. Stinging attention to an open wound. The shackles are sharp. He bleeds.

In time, he heals as all elves do. It is only a cut. Thranduil knows how to fix things. He cannot bear to see his son in pain.

Legolas does not cry. Nothing can be heard from his lips. The hot air in the room blisters his skin. For a moment he burns, and hears his father laugh. Then there is nothing at all.

 

The shackles come away. What flesh had been compressed now rises like fresh bread. Icy fingers trail the lingering scars. Thranduil holds his son's hand.

"Ada will take good care of you, Legolas. You do not have to run."

 

~

 

The King has not been seen for days. In his room he has wine and a companion, for it is truly all he needs. Legolas does not drink.

Muted knocking startles Thranduil from his half-sleep. He glances at the enchanted wooden door to his chambers, the only guard to his privacy he can control.

“Go away.” he growls, rolling over in bed. Legolas has not moved an inch. This pleases the King.

“Y-Your Majesty, please. I am only concerned for your health…” Wavering and soft, Galion’s voice seeps beneath the crack in the door. Thranduil shakes his head and nobody sees.  
“Leave us.”

Galion presses his hand to the door, staring at nothing. ‘ _Us?_ ’ He assumes Legolas is there after an argument of some sort, for Thranduil does not usually invite anyone into his room unless it is for punishment or pleasure. The roughness in his voice suggests aggression above all else. Thranduil listens to his servant’s fading footsteps. A toothy smile splits his pursed lips.

“Where were we…?” He croons to his son, drawing circles on Legolas’s still chest with one finger. “Ah, yes. I shan’t keep you in here for too long. You want to see the sun and stars, do you not? I shall take you. All in good time.”

Legolas’s dull, open eyes gaze at the ceiling. He does not know why he still cannot move. Thranduil is touching him. He feels it. Thranduil speaks to him. He hears. Thranduil smiles down at him and brushes away stray locks of hair that contact his eyeballs. He cannot see.

~

It is still dark when Legolas is moved. Strength still lives in Thranduil’s body even though he has little use for it these days. The call of battle has not been heard for centuries. His bloodlust is sated. He does not mourn his wife when he is with his son. He smiles.

Legolas’s head rests against his father’s shoulder. The rhythmic sway of Thranduil’s steady steps takes him down long, silent corridors unseen and secure. Rustling leaves in rich greens and golds drape above an arched doorway, caressing his cheek. Thranduil brushes them away.

_‘Only I can touch him.’_

On the balcony, the sun shines from above and it warms Legolas’s skin. It reminds him of the burning heat of Thranduil’s power.

_‘He has done something to me.’_

Thranduil stops walking. He looks down at the cradled elf in his arms and his smile thins a little. “What was that, ion nîn?”

Had Legolas been moving, his entire body would’ve locked up. But he is still. Staring ahead. Into his father’s clothes. He hears a loud swish as Thranduil’s hair sweeps the back of his long, silver robes. Back and forth. _Vwoosh_.

“Hm. Oh, here. Look.” Thranduil jostles Legolas around a little, enough for his head to roll aside. His cheek is captured in a cupped hand before his neck twists. Fluttering purple petals fall into the dip of his collarbones. He is still nude.

“Do you remember, one thousand, two hundred and fifty years ago when it was Spring? I had a terrible headache, and you brought me these in some tea.” With care, Thranduil sits. The wooden chair creaks beneath the weight of the King and his son. Along the balcony railing, thick vines curl with blooming flowers spilling over. The rocky plateau upon which the balcony is built has a carpet of various plants that shift aside when Thranduil comes near. It is his precious little garden. Now he can share it with his son.

“Isn’t it nice to relax up here where it’s safe?” says Thranduil as he strokes Legolas’s hair. “You can see the entire kingdom if you look far enough.” Then he laughs. “Ah, but you know of my lacking eyesight.... The forest truly is beautiful today.” He looks down.

_‘All I need to see is you.’_

Legolas’s hair waves like flaxen strands in the gentle breeze. His hastily-done braids have imperfections sticking out here and there.

“Tch, your hair’s a mess. Here. Let me do it for you.” Legolas’s entire body pitches forwards and his head bumps the table nearby. His buttocks remain firmly planted in his father’s lap and this position is perfect for a little intimacy, Thranduil thinks.

_‘How long has it been since I have bonded with you thus?’_

His nimble fingers comb the prince’s locks straight. There is a noticeable lack of skin oils on Legolas’s scalp, contributing to the dryness of his hair.

_‘This just won’t do.’_

“Would you like a bath, ion nîn? You haven’t been taking very good care of yourself recently.” Still holding Legolas’s hair, Thranduil pulls it and the prince’s whole body follows. Legolas’s eyes roll back into his head. His lips part from the force of gravity.

“Oh?” Thranduil smiles. “Is _that_ what you’re after…?” Light amusement bubbles forth in a low giggle. “It _has_ been a while.”

Legolas’s eyebrows are raised as if his face is being skinned. Thranduil does not release his hair. He leans in and to the left a little, his shoulder nestled amongst the flowers on the balcony. His other hand comes to rest at the dip in his son’s back for support.

 _‘I am here for you. You will not fall.’_ Thranduil does not think about who he speaks to within his own mind. _‘I am a good father. I will not let my precious little leaf come to harm.’_ He presses his lips to Legolas’s dry, tasteless flesh. Licks him. Whispers to him. Tells him he is loved.

They continue in the baths that day.

It is still dark.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to know wat is actually going on with Legolas, I've typed a little paragraph explaining what Thranduil has done to him. It's essentially a 'spoiler' if you care to get deep into this fic so um yeah ^.^  
> *still can't replicate the style of Mortal Love but is tryin'* hehe


	3. Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil smiles because he loves his son.  
> Always, no matter what.

Thranduil cannot keep the joy from his face when he disrobes alongside his patient son. Legolas does not rush his father to hurry and lather attention all over him. This time, he waits. His unfocused gaze goes through Thranduil’s bare, soft form. In the cool light of the hot springs the King is a pale, ethereal creature of gentle curves, the epitome of grace. With a single, fluid motion he scoops Legolas into his arms and walks into the pool. Emerald highlights dance across his skin, the dark water like liquid jewels enveloping his body. He sits Legolas on the lowest stair, keeping the prince’s head above the water.

 _‘Oh, he’s so relaxed already…’_ Thranduil watches Legolas’s slumped shoulders and bowed head. “Legolas, don’t fall asleep yet.” Heavily-lidded eyes appear clouded with steam. Legolas is awake. Still he cannot see.

The soothing blanket of warmth wraps around Legolas the moment he is properly seated. Swallowing him up to his neck, the hot springs bubble with invigorating minerals and floral scents. Thranduil pours the rest of his favourite oil onto Legolas’s hair. It drips along the contours of high cheekbones and a relaxed brow. He hums an old tune under his breath as he massages the oil into his son’s unbound golden locks. Sitting beside him, Thranduil leans one leg over Legolas’s thighs and half straddles him as best he can. It is only for comfort, so that he can have better access to all the hair he likes. Legolas does not raise his head.

“There… mm, do you like that?” There’s a cheeky smirk tugging at Thranduil’s lips. He has no need to restrain himself so he smiles openly at his son. Legolas does not reply. Thranduil’s fingers are a sudden stiff cage around the back of his son’s head. Wet hair smacks against Legolas’s slick skin as he is forced to nod. The fingers lessen their grip, trailing like clear water pouring down smooth rocks. Legolas’s racing heart calms.

“Of course you do.” says Thranduil, massaging the prince’s neck and upper back muscles. “You love everything your Ada does for you.” He continues to hum with his eyes closed, sensitive hands tracing the contours of Legolas’s toned muscles. He wonders how his son has a body so fine when he barely sees him exercising. Hm.

It is through the motions of Thranduil’s hands that a passing servant does not think twice about Legolas. Father and son often bathe together, with as much closeness as their elven culture permits. Skin against skin. Hands through hair. Soft sponges and splashing around, laughter and love. Thranduil murmurs to Legolas so quietly the servant cannot hear. She doesn’t need to. Whatever the King and Prince need is within arm’s reach. She leaves them in peace to continue her duties elsewhere.

The aroma of jasmine clings to Legolas’s hair. It is rubbed down into his flesh along with a few more invigorating scents. Thranduil has always been responsive to non-visual stimulus and wishes for his son to be as pleasing as he once was. No more leaves stuck in his hair from a day out in the forest. No chance of scratches upon his precious, precious flesh. The world would not touch Thranduil’s only child. Not any more. When the King dips his nose into the warmth of Legolas’s neck he stays there, moving his body to straddle him properly. Yes, this will do nicely. Their thighs touch, softness against something firm and stiff. Indecency beneath the steaming water, coy whispers into pointed ears. Thranduil’s voice is _filthy_ as he speaks of his desires to his unresponsive son. He licks the shell of Legolas’s ear as he’s always done, laving his hot tongue along tender flesh. He knows what his son likes. Whether or not Legolas admits it does not matter. When his thumb brushes past a delicate nipple, he thinks he hears a hitch in Legolas’s breath. But that cannot be right, for Legolas is not breathing. Thranduil continues to smile.

The water has made both elves pliable and maybe a little light-headed. Thranduil squeezes his son’s thighs quite hard, as there is nothing at all to tell him how gentle he should be with living flesh. He squeezes until white turns to red and the mark of his hand is left in a half-ring.

“So soft…” he whispers, shifting around. The tip of his arousal brushes against Legolas’s stomach on purpose, but he does not think it is his own doing. “Yes, there…” Slowly, Legolas is sinking into the water. Though he sits quite well on the rocky stairs, the weight of his father’s body pulls him down. Thranduil does not notice when his son’s head goes under. He dips beneath the surface to wet his hair and feels sleek skin slip away from him.

He needs the contact. His smile cracks.

“Where are you going?” With all his strength he shoves Legolas up by his shoulders, onto the stairs. Legolas’s head falls back. It thuds against the rock and water trickles into his ears. “No, you’ll stay here. Come now, I’ve never known you to be this resistant to a little fun. Shall I teach you how we used to play?”

Legolas tilts his head to the side. It is mere gravity that lolls his weakened neck to press half his face into the water. Scalding hot green licks at his eyeball and steamed flesh. Thranduil thinks of his beautiful son thrashing about in the throes of pleasure.

 _‘Well, I suppose if he makes his face that way... it does look quite good.’_ His hands press to Legolas’s chest, massaging a little praise into him.

“There’s a good boy. Now, stay just like that. I will show you.”

With the last thoughts in Legolas’s mind, he wishes he cannot feel.


	4. Once More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is repetition in madness and growth in love. Obsession is a different story entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thrandy pls wat are u doin

It is a week later when Galion catches sight of the King.

“Aran nin!” he calls, speeding his steps into a dignified jog after the trailing robes turn a corner. “Wait!” Before he can blink, Thranduil is upon him with his tall, majestic form looming above. Blatant distrust and malice lights a grey storm in his eyes.

“You _dare_ to order me?”

“No, no. I merely ask for a little of your time, ah, _beg_ , if you will.” Galion trips over his words and hopes he will not be asked to repeat himself. Thranduil understands but does not like what he hears.

“What would _you_ want with _me?_ I have no need of your service now. Begone.”

Galion wrings his hands together until his skin is pulled tight against prominent white knuckles. “Eheh, and what about the prince? Does Legolas require anything?”

At the mention of his son, Thranduil’s apparent rage dissolves. Like fine sugar melting in hot water, a calmer and more considerate look washes over his face. He blinks in slow thought.

_‘What does my precious little leaf need? He is warm, tucked into bed and clean after a nice, hot bath. He does not wish for any of my wine… Ah! Maybe he is hungry.’_

“Fetch me some honey cakes. I am sure he will enjoy those.”

Galion will not disobey but he loiters a moment, eyes fixed on a nearby lamp.

_‘Honey cakes are the King’s favourite food. For him to be sharing those with Legolas… it must mean the prince has done something good to deserve that.’_

“I will do so at once. May I ask what you are doing with him in your room these days? Nobody has seen him as of late.” He glances back to Thranduil. Something cloudy and thick masks the emotion in Thranduil’s eyes. Whatever it is, Galion does not know. His hands stiffen and a short breath spits past his lips. The ice in Thranduil’s suddenly hardened face cracks.

“Why, I am looking after my son of course. He’s very ill, you know. Saying the strangest things… all frantic and upset. I am keeping him safe until he is ready to mingle with the other folk once more.” The lilting tones in his voice are akin to birdsong filtering through bright summer leaves. Pure, chipper, explanatory enough. Galion detects high falsity in the King’s words.

“What do you mean?” Galion presses just a little more. “Safe? Has someone done something to him?”

“Perhaps.” A solemn low note wipes Thranduil’s brightness away. “He tried to escape.”  
Silent horror seeps into Galion’s forcibly placid expression. Thranduil smirks from the side of his mouth.

“Nobody enters this kingdom… and no-one leaves it.”

 

~                                                                                                                                                  

 

The King’s softly spoken words pound at Galion’s head until he feels he is going mad. There’s something going on, but he just doesn’t get it. Something about Legolas’s behaviour has _changed_ Thranduil and there is no way to find out what. Galion will not risk his life no matter how much he loves the unstable Elvenking.

 _‘He’s just going through a patch of vulnerability.’_ he thinks, drizzling honey over the cakes Thranduil requested. ‘ _Legolas will be running around like a wild thing and the King will sit upon his throne looking depressed again soon enough.’_

He knocks on Thranduil’s door and it is opened a tad for him to pass the plate through. _Odd._ Thranduil is usually found sprawled in bed with whatever he decides to please himself with, yet he comes to the door as if there is a need to hide something in his room. Galion tries to peek in but the plate is snatched away and the door shut before he can get a proper look. He stands by the door, listening.

 _“I can hear you breathing…”_ whispers Thranduil from the other side. The guards wonder what has frightened Galion so when they see him sprinting through the palace.

“Legolas~” Thranduil drifts over to sit beside his son on the massive bed. Rich silk brocade caresses his bare legs and as he undoes the clasps of his robes, he sighs. “Ahh… I have brought you something. Here.” He shrugs his clothing to pool around his waist, taking a sweet pastry between his fingers. “Do you want it?”

Legolas does not reply. He sits propped up with three pillows behind him, rigid hands folded in his lap. Staring into the darkness, he hears his father speak. A dull ache throbs just behind his left eye but he does not wonder if it is a headache. He does not think anything at all.

“Mm, say _please_ ~” It is almost a joke to Thranduil how stoic his son is. Sitting there, looking like a perfect prince with his hair combed so well it had begun to fall out. Nothing can be heard from Legolas, no breath or sign of any bodily function. Thranduil’s stomach growls instead, for he has not eaten in hours. He doesn’t really need food more than one good meal a week, but as the King he likes to indulge. And what good father wouldn’t share food with his son? Thranduil shakes his head. “Demanding, aren’t you? Well, here. I cannot deny you a thing, my sweet.” He nudges the pastry to his son’s lips. Soft, buttery flakes of it break off and fall onto Legolas’s bare chest. His upper lip is pushed upwards to reveal slighty pale gums and perfect white teeth. Thranduil shifts the pastry around as if coaxing a shy puppy to taste solid food for the first time. A little honey smears around Legolas’s mouth.

“Here, let me help you…” When Thranduil murmurs to his son he cannot resist gazing upon him with blind adoration in his eyes.

 _‘How dearly I love you. You are giving me another chance, after all I have done. I shall feed you, and keep you warm.My beautiful boy…’_ He will not neglect any one of Legolas’s needs, no matter what they are. His son wants food (as Thranduil does), but he will not eat. So Thranduil will make him. He is gentle when he takes Legolas’s lower jaw and opens his mouth, squeezing only when he feels a stiff resistance. Legolas tastes sweetness and is unable to choke because not even his throat can move. Thranduil sticks a finger in there to make sure Legolas has eaten a little bit. He then trails his wet finger along his son’s lips, swiping up the dripping honey. The inside of Legolas’s body is warm and sticky. His mouth is dry.

Thranduil licks his own finger, wondering about the slight acidity before throwing caution to the wind and deciding to clean up Legolas by himself. It is natural for Thranduil to throw himself upon his son and make sweet love to him, an innate ability of his to turn even the most innocent situations erotic. He laves up and down Legolas’s lips whilst kissing and wondering if he will have to replace his son’s saliva. Every single one of Legolas’s functions are paused. His heart beats only slowly enough to keep him alive. Thranduil cannot hear it.

There is a little softness now to Legolas’s lips. Thranduil congratulates himself on a job well done, for Legolas looks a little healthier now with a shine to his face from being licked. His flesh retains very little of the usual elven sweetness but Thranduil does not mind. His blood is like syrup, after all.

‘ _If I want some, all I must do is ask.’_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I think it's a common thing to put one creepy feeding scene in darkfic, or at least when I write it that's what I do. nngggg I'm not going for kink, I swear! Just a bit of... ya know. B)


	5. Give and Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always a little strategy involved to get what you want. Legolas writes letters. Thranduil does too.

Thranduil talks himself out of chewing on his son’s flesh. He resigns to other forms of affection, much gentler ways of showing Legolas he _cares_. Every day, he takes Legolas outside and sits with him, touching and kissing him, petting his hair. He feels the closeness increase between them with every conversation and smile.

 _‘He loves me.’_ Thranduil’s mind is reassuring enough to give him the strength to leave Legolas alone for a while. ‘ _He will stay here.’_ He moves the prince’s hands into his lap to take his cock into a standing position, so that if anyone dares enter the room, they will be greeted with an embarrassing sight. Legolas looks natural enough lying down with his hands between his legs and his head tossed to one side. Thranduil pats him on the thigh, then leaves. Today he holds court with nothing but Legolas in his mind. The tales of dark forces moving in the South hold no interest for him but he pretends to listen anyway. Then, there is a message. Brelin, one of Legolas’s ‘friends’ (but really just a nosey guard who is too fond of the prince) shows Thranduil a message from Rivendell. Some sort of correspondence, for Legolas’s eyes only. Brelin has read it. Thranduil does too.

Elrond wants to know where Legolas is, after his letter spoke of a visit and yet there was none. Before Thranduil can make sense of it, Brelin whines at him.

“Hasn’t Legolas been gone for weeks? Surely he must be there by now.”

“Yes…” Slowly, a plan forms in Thranduil’s mind. “You should go with a party to scout the forest and see if there are any signs of him. If my son is delayed, he might be injured…” Darkness comes over his face and it is becoming difficult to suppress his laughter. “Go now. Take your best soldiers.”

Brelin leaves after a snappy salute, eager to get away from the King. Thranduil leans back in his throne, tilts his head to the high carven roof of his halls and shakes with silent giggles.

_‘They’ll never find him now. Bothersome little guards… they will die. Nobody shall ask about my Legolas again.’_

He only hopes that, but doesn’t really believe it. The prospect of someone discovering Legolas as he is now frightens Thranduil beyond belief. What if they saw the fear in his eyes, felt the kisses at his lips? Anyone with sense would hold Thranduil in great suspicion. They would ask what he was doing, and despite his many excuses, too much prodding will break him. He knows this. But he can deny for as long as he lives. He has eternity with his son, after all. Legolas is not going anywhere.

~

When Thranduil returns to his room he does not notice the crumpled bedsheets from afar, but as he nears his son it is clear someone has touched him. A lock of his hair has fallen across his face. Thranduil picks it up. With great speed he shoves Legolas onto his back, staring desperately into his eyes.

“Are you alright, my precious? Has someone been in here?”

Legolas’s face is as neutral as ever, but Thranduil’s paranoia triumphs and projects onto the lack of expression. Those wide, open eyes could almost look frightened.

‘ _He **is** scared… oh, no. What… What do I do? This is not how it is supposed to go!’_ He doesn’t realize his thoughts are being screamed aloud until the door creaks and footsteps hurry away. Quick as a flash he jumps off the bed and sticks his face into the hallway. Everything is blurred as usual. But something glints on the floor. A leaf-shaped clasp. Worn, loose and of tarnished silver. Some four thousand years old. He knows who this belongs to.

He shuts the door, the clasp in hand. It goes into the bowl of trinkets Thranduil keeps on the dresser to the right of his bed, clinking against various shiny things. He gazes at the sparkling jewels in there before turning his attention to his son.

“I will protect you, Legolas. You must tell me who it was that came in here… and… TOUCHED YOU.” His breathing sounds almost animalistic for how hard it comes through his nose, heavy and dark with shuddering fragments of rage. “TELL ME!”

Legolas’s hands are no longer in his lap and Thranduil _knows_ he cannot move. He forces his fist between Legolas’s thighs to part them, using force to shift stiff muscles that will only loosen in time. There are no patches of warmth that suggest fingertips against skin, or lips for that matter. Legolas is drier than a desert without a single mark to his flesh. Thranduil leans into his son’s face and his hair forms a dim curtain around them. Little light passes through his silvery blonde locks, but Legolas cannot see. He can feel breath that is not his own. Then a whisper… as if Thranduil is speaking for him.

“ _It was Galion.”_

Thranduil pulls away. Twitching repulsion assaults his fair yet twisted features. A darker shade of blue sinks depth into his clouded eyes.

“I will make sure he never hurts you again.” It is strange to his rational mind that he would liken an innocent touch (that has left no mark but a stray lock of hair) to danger and suffering, but alas there is not much volume to those thoughts at all. Legolas is a beautiful creature to be desired, and all who contact him will take him away. For they are selfish as Thranduil is, jealous and wanting what they cannot have. Thranduil has always suspected Galion of being a spy (oh but he _hasn’t_ , so singular is his focus on his circular thoughts these days that it seems he’s suspected his most loyal servant _forever)_ and will not stand for any threats to his kingdom. His safety. His beloved little prince.

No. Never can Legolas be allowed to come to harm. So Thranduil thinks, decides and becomes set on the ultimate protection anyone could ask of him. He runs his fingers along Legolas’s inner thighs with nails so sharp they draw blood. Low, dark Sindarin curls from his lips like black smoke as he continues to scratch runes into his son’s flesh.

“ _Mine_.” he whispers, raking his clawed nails behind the curve of Legolas’s buttocks. There it is written, “Property of Thranduil” and anyone who touches the Prince henceforth shall be burned. Now he knows that a charred body will mean a person to distrust. Dead or alive. No second chances.

No second chances.

None at all.

He goes to find Galion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o shit this one wasn't planned but suddenly HAPPENED  
> it's kinda setup for the later chapters, though.  
> Also, I know I should’ve described Thranduil’s bedroom but as Legolas only sees it as all dark (no eyesight D:) and Thranduil looks at everything blurred, I only mention things when they’re interacted with. Here’s a blueprint of his room
> 
> http://38.media.tumblr.com/dffb967997b12154e6be952c88b1777d/tumblr_inline_ngp1jo93gy1s9723c.png 
> 
> If you scroll down at doitsuki.tumblr.com/mirkwood you will see about a thousand words there describing Thranduil’s room in great detail. Yes, I wrote all that just so I could link to it in a fic. LEL it’s for those people who like to turn the written word into a mental movie ~
> 
> Next chapter is gonna be some serious shit. Prepare your anus.


	6. Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone enjoys a nice drink now and then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suggest listening to this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AwOySPsYcY as it is some good mood-setting music (amnesia dark descent soundtrack [search - Grunt] and THEN [danger - suitor] if the playlist works right) ayy lmao there gon b some spooks

The wine cellars are musty, dark and numerous beneath the Woodland Realm. While more frequently required drinks are kept in the cellars closest to the dungeons, deeper and more vast are the stores kept in enormous barrels underground. It is here where Galion fetches strong red wine for the upper cellars with the help of Brelin, both guard and servant to the King. Though it seems these past few thousand years, Brelin has done nothing but loiter around and talk. He annoys Galion quite often but as the only true friend Galion can banter with in confidence, the old butler puts up with him. Today his agitation shakes frazzled nerves into quavering fright. All around his eyes dart as if he expects an orc to jump out of the darkness and ram a blade up his ass.

“What is with you, mellon nín?” Brelin’s large, gentle hands run down Galion’s back to mimic a crawling spider. Galion shrieks like a fire drake in water and spins around with tears in his eyes.

“Don’t do that…!” He tries to look upset, firm and angered. All his face shows is fear. Brelin tilts his head to the side, his messily braided hair falling into his face.

“Forgive me… but… you are not usually this tense. Are you alright?”

“Of course I am.” Lies do not come easily to Galion unless they are compliments and acts of tolerance towards idiotic folk. Brelin shakes his head.

“You look like you’ve seen a wraith.” He places a solid hand onto Galion’s shoulder, moving to gaze into his eyes. “You can tell me. Come on.”

Galion looks around before sighing with resignation. “I snuck into the King’s chambers today.” A long pause signals his hesitance to continue. “Brelin, I really don’t think I should be telling you-”

“No, go on. I don’t get to go into the palace often, so any gossip is news to me. What did you find there? Why did you go?”

“I…” Galion grips his friend’s arms. “I found Legolas, dead. Just lying there, in the King’s bed, with his hands down… there…” He looks at Brelin’s lower body then back up into his eyes, suggesting without speaking. Brelin’s eyes widen.

“Dead?! You’re serious? Dead,  and not faded? No, that doesn’t make any sense. If he’s really dead, his body would have disappeared by now. I would know, like do you remember that wayward Noldo we captured last century? Split his head open and vanished.”

“Shh! Shh we mustn’t talk about such things!” Brelin’s enthusiasm unnerves Galion just a little but he supposes his friend cannot really man the dungeons without taking some interest in the prisoners’ actions. Death and despair. “Look. I know what I saw, and put my finger on his neck. I couldn’t feel a pulse, not even once in five seconds. I almost got caught, too. Oh, Elbereth… What am I to do?”

Brelin goes to speak but pauses. Instantly, Galion is on edge.

“Did you… hear that? Shit, I know I shouldn’t be scaring you but I thought I heard something…” Brelin takes his dagger out from the golden-brown sheath strapped to his belt. Silence fills the room. Both Silvan remain as still as possible to minimize their presence. It is only dark enough for the wine to be safe for millenia, with just enough light from a nearby lantern to allow sight. Galion is too scared to move his gaze for fear of his glistening eyeballs making some sort of sound. Brelin turns to the door.

“I’m gonna go check. Stay here, take the lantern if you need to. Someone’s sneaking around.” He has no proof but wants out of the cellars nonetheless and picks up the lantern from the table nearby, thrusting it into Galion’s arms. The flame flickers as Galion shakes.

 _‘Poor guy… he’s terrified. I’m going to get out of here and see what’s up.’_ When Brelin leaves, the smothering anxiety of being completely alone sinks into Galion like lead. His lungs feel too heavy to take in air, as if they are collapsing due to the tension in his body. Every breath is short, struggling, choked.

 _‘I’m going to die._ ’ His consciousness sounds like foresight now, so sure he is of his own imminent demise. But there is nothing he can hear from his surroundings. Not even a creak of old wood, pushed against by recently-disturbed wine.

“No. There’s no use for me staying here… like a scared little elfling in a spider den. Nothing here! Not at all! Just me, getting some wine.” His voice starts out forced and barking only to die into a little squeak. _‘Why can’t I move…?’_

Then he hears it.

It is very, very quiet. _Ssssshhhhffffff._

“WHO’S THERE?!” he cries, whirling around with the lantern clutched close to his chest. The sound is behind him. _Shhhhhhhhffff….._

‘ _What is it?! Shuffling? Dragging? Is it the King dragging the body of his son into these cellars, never to be found?’_  Galion’s panic only intensifies when the light of the corridor outside is snuffed out. The door shuts. He can no longer sense Brelin anywhere nearby. _‘Oh, Eru save me. I’m going to die._ ’

“Yes, you are…” whispers a long, drawling voice. Galion flips around to see only a shadow of an elf holding a lantern, petrified. _Ssssssshhhhffffff…. Ahh._

“I can _smell_ you… you’ve been all over my son, haven’t you?” With one last sniff, Thranduil cranes his head around Galion’s neck. He buries his nose beside the servant’s pulsing jugular and grins. Galion feels _teeth._ No sting or bite follows.

“y-Y-YeyeyeYOuR MAjESTY PLEASE. PLEASE STOP THAT.” Had he the function to do so, Galion would’ve shit himself like an erupting Mt Doom. He has forgotten that Thranduil does not like to be ordered around. Silently he begins to cry.

“Oh, what’s the matter?” Dripping with falsehood is Thranduil’s low, threatening voice. Galion only hears the malice. The deceitful concern and care is lost on him. If anything, it chills his very soul. “Will you perhaps repent for what you have done?” Before Galion can respond, Thranduil changes his mind. “No. You are below redemption, you conniving little bastard. I know what you did. You touched him, his hair, his hands, his cock. He is MINE. My son. My green leaf.” Thranduil bares his teeth to Galion’s ear. “ ** _UNDERSTAND?_** ”

‘ _All I did was check his pulse. What… the fuck… are you on about?’_ A rare moment of confusion stills Galion’s racing thoughts to a dissociated sludge. No longer is he present in the world where his King has gone mad and the prince is dead. Now, he thinks. ‘ _Could it be that… he moved by himself after I left?’_

Something sweet fills his mouth. It is not blood. Then his belly. Red wine. Then his lungs. Thranduil is _drowning_ him. Over and over, the King dips his now thrashing servant’s head into an open barrel, chanting something under his breath as if he is performing a ritual sacrifice. Galion tries to scream and feels an organ rupture. He does not know which one. Blood and wine spill from the barrel and Thranduil shoves him in. The lid comes back on. Latched on tight.

Nobody hears his screams.

Thranduil is only tuned to the power that runs through his body as he flexes in the dim lantern light. He picks it up and carries it out, licking wine from his wrists. Dripping down his fingers, thick sweet red. There’s a little blood mixed in. Mm.

He finds a random guard by the end of the corridor, half-asleep but not so any more.

“My King, are you alright?” The guard notices how Thranduil’s arms are covered in wine, but Thranduil only smiles.

“Yes, I went to fetch some wine but dropped my lantern in a barrel. Do send some hot towels up to my room. I would like to get myself cleaned.”

“At once.” With a snappy salute, the guard runs off with his fine leather armor swishing around. Thranduil smiles.

 

Curiously enough he comes across Brelin for the second time that day, noticing the elf pacing around in the open guard quarters.

“Don’t you have work to do?” asks Thranduil, tilting his head to the side. Blood and wine trails behind him all the way to the cellars. Brelin doesn’t seem to care.

“Not unless you give me some, your Majesty. Oh, um Galion was saying something about a spy sneaking around. I think you should look into it.”

Thranduil’s smile thins. “I already have.”

Brelin’s dark brows raise just enough for Thranduil to notice and there’s genuine surprise along with some degree of confusion in the younger elf’s face.

“Oh, well… okay. Whatever!” Grinning at the King, Brelin makes a respectful palm-out gesture in farewell and walks away. Thranduil wonders how Brelin knows of a spy when he has not been seen in the palace for years. _Hm._

 

Once in his chambers, Brelin lies in bed and looks at the ceiling. There in relief carving is Legolas with a bow in one hand and three arrows in the other. He springs over bushes with joy in his fair face, his hair streaming in glorious curves around the entire ceiling. Brelin finds it so curious that Galion snuck into Thranduil’s room that he laughs.

_‘What a coincidence that we both went to visit the prince on the same day…’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *quietly panics about when I'm gonna write smut* noot noot


	7. Pleasing him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is so little good in Thranduil's life that he must make it himself. He can handle it, he thinks. He can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES HELLO um here is the smut, and I have never written anything like this in the present tense before so... sorry in advance if it's disgusting and mechanical! \\(^0^)/ doodily doo

The King has hot towels in his room, fresh and steaming in a fluffy white pile at the end of the bed. A random servant had handed them to him just as he went to enter his room, and with a grateful smile he bid her farewell. Now, Thranduil has mostly clean hands but the rest of him is still stained. As he peels away the silky, sticky layers of his robes his body surges with invigoration and life. It is a good thing he has done to ensure his son’s safety. Yes.

“Yesss… and that is how I did it. Wonderful, hm? Nobody will come and bother you ever again.” He leans into Legolas’s chest while taking off his boots, lying on his side and fiddling with the buckles. Legolas has no hope to ever be free.

Thranduil stops before he removes his leggings. “Good boys deserve rewards, do they not?” Bare-chested and with hair splayed across his slick flesh, Thranduil straddles his son, kneeling. “You told me who it was that came to you… and I have gotten rid of him.”

_‘We both deserve this. I will make it worthwhile.’_

He bends to wet Legolas’s lips with a kiss, using one hand to tilt the prince’s head this way and that. His gentle moans and sighs are enough for both of them, for Thranduil is typically vocal about his lustful desire.

“I want you…” he whispers. Something in Legolas echoes that, more in spirit than expression. Thranduil can feel it. In the slight, fading warmth of his son’s cheeks and the looseness of his tongue. He has enough sense and self-control to keep from rushing, thus he moves slowly to slide his leggings down until they are no longer a problem. His long, slender length springs free and smacks against Legolas’s thigh where it rubs against the smoothness there. “Tell me, ion nín… What do you want?” As he moves he cradles Legolas in his arms, using all his strength to flip their positions. Legolas’s head bows and thuds against Thranduil’s chest. Gravity draws his body down. Thranduil parts his legs for his son with a coy smile and thinks to himself, ‘ _He is looking down. I know what he wants.’_

Before Thranduil goes to do anything more, first he takes time to just enjoy the feeling of Legolas's skin beneath his fingers. Once it had been aglow with youthful vigour. Now, Legolas is as pale as the waning moonlight, so white he appears bloodless. But all Thranduil must do is nibble at his son's flesh do draw colour into his skin. Obedient and beautiful, Legolas is his father's porcelain doll. Thranduil does not wish to awaken his senses just yet. But Legolas can feel it all. Heavy are his limbs all splayed out of control but stronger is the King's hold to keep him close, allowing him the sensation of heat at his unmoving chest. Thranduil strokes down his son's back in steady, reassuring motions. How he loves to pet him. His own creation, his beloved green leaf.

Once more he changes position after a chaste kiss to the prince’s lips. With great care, Legolas is positioned like a ragdoll with a skeleton to kneel on the bed. His ass points to the air, somewhat flattened after having been lain upon for so long. Thranduil notices and first goes to smack him there, massaging and squeezing it back into shape.  _‘Why is he tense here…? It would do him better to be stiff somewhere else.’_ He laughs lightly and smacks Legolas again, a little harder. The prince still jerks forth, his face stuffed into the thick pillows close by. The sound of his face sliding against the rich fabric sounds almost like a hiss between clenched teeth.

“Oh, you like that?” Thranduil gropes his son from behind, admiring how lovely Legolas looks when presented like this. Legolas’s arousal has not changed in appearance, remaining flaccid as the blood in his body has moved to stiffen other areas. Thranduil gives him a few short strokes until he remembers what they both want. Both hands grasp Legolas around his stomach to pull him into a better position. Ass out, back curved, elbows propping him up. Then, Thranduil slithers around to kneel before Legolas’s face. He grabs the single braid running down the back of his son’s head and jerks it back, causing Legolas’s eyes to roll.

 _‘So he enjoys rough treatment. But I will not truly hurt him. I remember so many years ago… he always liked when I was gentle. My precious little baby. So sweet.’_ Thranduil sticks a finger into his son’s mouth and feels the wetness within. Legolas’s core body temperature has dropped to be no warmer than the inside of a pie left cooling for hours, but Thranduil still wants to fuck heat and pleasure into him.

“Remember, no biting.” Thranduil murmurs as he shifts his cock between Legolas’s lips, holding his head up so his jaw can hang. Deeper and deeper he goes, and it is so still inside Legolas’s throat that Thranduil wonders if he must do all the work himself. He doesn’t mind. Muscles are easy enough to manipulate with a hand around the neck.

Back and forth he pushes himself into Legolas’s mouth, not caring for the slackened jaw or general harshness of the act. Legolas is beautiful here beneath him and there is just enough give to the flesh of his body for Thranduil to take pleasure in him. His gaze is locked looking down into Legolas’s rolled and watery eyes. Some fluids leak down the prince’s face and to Thranduil, they are tears of ecstasy. It is what he wants to believe. So he believes it.

He groans loudly at the delicious sensuality Legolas offers, with his neck at such an angle it would kill a man to take a cock so deep. There are definitely some ridges Thranduil feels when he tilts his hips around, and it seems to make Legolas's head move too. The added realism only pushes him further.

 _‘He’s truly working hard for this. Oh, just look at his face. So wanton and open…’_ No matter how sharp the King’s hearing is, he misses the sound of cracking vertebrae and a spine at breaking point. Harder and harder he thrusts, his voice becoming hoarse with deep and melodic sighs. “Ahhhhnn, Legolas…” With his lips parted, Thranduil cries out for his son to give him _more_ , to go _faster_ , and Legolas does not make a sound. Aside from a quiet gurgling growl from somewhere in his body, he takes his father’s cock in rigid silence. Upon Thranduil’s release, Legolas tastes something bittersweet and familiar. It slides down his throat but provides him no sustenance, not as it used to. All his functions are paused. He can take in no nutrients or pass what is left.

Thranduil feeds him yet still he starves.

 

~

 

The sun rises above Mirkwood and Thranduil is barely awake. On Legolas’s thighs he sleeps, drooling over the half of his son’s arousal still in his mouth. Perhaps Legolas had not been feeling it enough to find the intended euphoria last night. Thranduil enjoys the taste no matter what.  
“Nnnn…” he moans, shifting to roll aside. There are still remnants of dried wine and a little blood on his body, just like with Legolas. It seems to have rubbed off, and the formerly hot towels are cool.

 _‘Ah. I fell asleep… Legolas too. Well, I can still clean both of us…’_ He requests more towels like it is nothing, and his servants do not question his needs. Humming softly he cleans Legolas first out of respect and care above all else. He wipes down himself afterwards, thinking to take a bath this evening just to relax.

‘ _He looks so worn out. Poor thing… we haven’t done this in a while. Maybe the next time we start teasing each other, it can turn into something more… I’d love to take him on my throne. We did that once, according to him… and I was drunk.’_ Thranduil can barely recall the memory. But Legolas is not well enough to walk, and Thranduil will not push him.

“Rest here, my love. I will order breakfast.”

 

Day by day, it continues. They wake, Thranduil eats, Legolas does not move, he feels his father’s touch, he hears that gentle voice. There is talk in the Woodland Realm of the possibility that Legolas is dead, but in the forest from his misadventure all those weeks ago. Nobody knows that Thranduil has Legolas in his room. Galion did. Now, his voice is silenced.

Thranduil thinks he is safe. Until Brelin knocks on the door to deliver a message.

“Your Majesty, we have a visitor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol bye


	8. Don't you have anything better to do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil has a visitor. He thinks there are a hundred things this elf could be doing over coming to Mirkwood to say hi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the OOC

Thranduil is informed of a visitor’s presence at the gates, a traveler from afar waiting to speak to him.

“Why was this intruder not thrown into the dungeons immediately?” he hisses, sending a shiver down Brelin’s spine.

“Because it’s Lord Elrond, your Majesty. He’s your friend, remember?”

“Friend…” Thranduil looks away from the closed door and back at Legolas, who lies on the bed. _‘I do remember Elrond… he was the first friend I ever had, come to think of it. We met in Lindon… and I haven’t seen him since the Battle of the Last Alliance. What does he want with me now?’_

Brelin knocks on the door again. “Come on! He doesn’t seem in the best mood to be kept waiting. Said something about business in Rohan…?”

The door swings open so fast it nearly knocks him out, and he reels backwards clutching his nose. Thranduil doesn’t care in the slightest, shutting the door before Brelin can take a peek into the room.

“Don’t you hurry me. Go and let him be lead to the throneroom. There I will be waiting.”

In stunned silence, Brelin nods and runs off. Blood drips between his fingers.

By the gates, Elrond makes small talk with Feren the Gatekeeper. Hiding behind Feren is a small elfling with wide brown eyes and a sweet, innocent face. He gazes at Elrond as if one of the Valar has appeared before him, sparkling and majestic.

“And your sons? They are with you, yes?” As Feren inquires, the trees nearby rustle and two elves fall out, followed by half of Mirkwood’s hunter patrol.

“There they are. Boys, what took you so long?”Elrond turns with a stiffness to his motions to look at Elladan and Elrohir, who giggle as they try to untangle themselves from each other.

“We were playing chase with these fine folk! Oh, the Silvan can run so fast!” Elladan shows his best cheeky grin to the unimpressed hunters, who seem so out of breath and ashamed they cannot bear to make eye contact with anyone. After a quick exchange with the guard opposite Feren, the hunters file into the palace one by one. They do not need to protect the Woodland Realm against three Noldor, even if they _are_ heavily armed. Elladan carries two swords on his back, one strapped a little tighter than the other. Elrohir walks like an assassin with hidden daggers all over his body and the strength of his bow is obvious in how well-crafted it looks. He brushes leaves from his hair and smiles brightly at Feren. “Can we go inside?”

“Yes.” The voice from behind Feren draws attention to an already-healed Brelin, scratching the side of his nose with some discomfort in his face. “The King requests Lord Elrond’s presence in his throneroom, but said nothing about you two.”

Elrond frowns enough to crease his entire face like a paper bag squished between two strong hands. “Is something the matter?”

“No, no.” Brelin hopes to put the elf-lord at ease with a gentle smile, but Elrond only narrows his eyes in suspicion. “He just wants a private audience with you, I think. Fear not, I shall ask if you wish to have your companions hosted here-“

“Of course. It has been a long journey here, and we have a tight schedule allowing for only a few days of rest. I shall speak to him myself.” Elrond does not usually interrupt anyone, for his patience is unlimited when it comes to matters of formality and negotiation. After having his mind preyed upon by Mirkwood’s dark illusion magic and nearly losing his sons to a spider ambush, all he wants to do is speak to Thranduil then sleep. Brelin leads him through the winding pathways of the Woodland Realm and the gates are shut by Feren’s command. The elfling behind Feren now dares to take a closer look at the first Noldor he’s ever seen.

“Your hair’s really pretty…” he murmurs, gazing between Elladan and Elrohir as they look exactly the same. “How do you get it like that?”

“We’re born with it!” The twins answer at once, their smiles equal and bright. Elladan does not worry for Elrond, for he knows friendships are not forsaken so lightly when they have endured for over six thousand years. Elrohir masks his concern with great skill, knowing his brother can feel it.

“What about you? Ahh, you’re so cute!” Elladan squats to make eye contact at Meludir’s level. “You’ve even got a little bow. Are you going to be a hunter when you grow up?”

“I want to serve in the King’s guard!” Hope shines in Meludir’s gleaming brown eyes and it melts Elladan’s heart.

“You look just like our servant Lindir when he gets excited. Don’t you think?” Nudging Elrohir, Elladan gestures as if the similarity is obvious. It is indeed, and Elrohir tilts his head to the side.

“Don’t mind him. He’s not had anyone new to talk to for weeks.” Elrohir’s gaze falls upon the design patterning Meludir’s suede tunic. “We can’t help but be curious… neither of us has met a Silvan before.”

Feren resists the urge to say “ _What about me?”_ and remains silent, staring out into the forest. He listens to whatever snippets of chatter interest him whilst hoping everything is going well with Elrond. Thranduil has not been himself lately. Feren worries.

 

The Elvenking reclines in his large, antlered throne with such grand crimson drapery pooling around him that it seems he is intent on looking as majestic as possible. When last he saw Elrond, he’d been a grieving prince leading the remnants of his decimated kingdom back home. Now he is clad in silver and red, his hair shining and crown blooming with live flowers. An old, familiar austerity can be seen in his grave face, akin to the expression Oropher often wore in his millenia of ruling. Yet Thranduil is not so prone to frowning and raising his voice – thus putting Elrond at ease the moment he speaks.

“So, Elrond. What brings you all the way over the Misty Mountains to the Woodland Realm? You could’ve sent a message if you missed me that much.” A coy smile tugs at his thin, rose-pink lips. Earlier in the day he’d been drinking to try and forget what a servant had said to him regarding Legolas’s whereabouts. A body had been discovered in the forest, burnt beyond recognition. His old memories of dragonfire had surfaced strongly enough to push his wine consumption past sensible limits. Thus he slurs his words a little more than his naturally drawling voice would allow.

Elrond sighs. “Mellon-nín, while I have missed you terribly I do not come to you for any request or offer. I am concerned about your son.” Straight and to the point, Elrond does not bullshit any more than is necessary. He knows his old friend is so sensitive even the slightest thing can tip his fragile emotions into a thunderstorm of terror. That hasn’t changed. Thranduil’s face twists into a dark glower but it is something much more menacing than anything Elrond has ever seen.

“My son…? What reason could you possibly have to be concerned with him? You have never even met him, if my memory is correct.”

Elrond is silent for a moment, then a moment more. _‘Something is amiss… my senses tell me so. It is instinct only, however… Ai, what should I do? This is his land… it will only take a word from him to turn things against me. Stop with the suspicions! He is your friend. Be sensible. Now.’_  Tall and statuesque, Elrond stands perfectly still. Brelin is a few feet away from him as are six guards in the spookiest armour he’s ever seen. He chooses his words with care.  
“I received a letter from Legolas a while ago, expressing how he was on his way to Imladris to join a council of mine. I don’t know how word reached him, but he said he would come. After enough time had passed, there was no sign of him and I grew concerned. I sent a letter… but received no response. Is he alright?”

“Yes, he is fine. You may go now.” Thranduil snootily turns his face away and makes a brush-off gesture with one hand. Elrond gapes, appalled.   
“Wait a moment. Can I not speak to him just to see how things are? Perhaps he is curious as to the outcome of the council he so wished to attend.”

_‘He just told you to basically piss off and leave him alone. He’s hiding something. Something important.’_

Thranduil is having none of it but recognizes Elrond’s suspicion. He can read the Noldo well enough, though his skills are somewhat rusty.

_‘He is curious about my little leaf. What letter does he speak of- wait. Perhaps this ‘letter’ does not exist and he is making it up to have an excuse to see my son! Oh, you sneaky old thing. Legolas is **mine**. No matter how far you have come, I am not going to let you anywhere near him.’_

“Where is the letter you speak of that expresses my son’s interest in this _council_ of yours? Legolas is not in the mood to speak to anyone at the moment and I shan’t let you bother him.”

“I do not mean to be a bother.” Elrond bows with false subservience to the King he knows enjoys such displays. “The letter is not with me as I did not expect you to ask for it. There are much less fragile things I must carry for this long journey my sons and I take.”

“Oh, you were going to Rohan, mm?” Thranduil tilts his head back to look at Elrond properly, his hair spilling over his glittering chest. There’s so much jewelry on him that it almost hurts to look. “You went down to Rohan and came up here to see me. Inconvenient and on purpose, I presume?”

“Lothlorien was kind enough to provide supplies and refuge, and I would only ask the same of you. You are welcome in my lands, Thranduil. Am I not welcome in yours?” Elrond’s cool grey eyes pierce with wisdom far beyond Thranduil’s measure. He _knows_ something. It unnerves the King.

After long seconds of eye contact, Elrond realizes Thranduil is staring through his head.

“If you seek refuge then I shall host you along with your sons for a week at most, but no longer. My people do not take kindly to the presence of kinslayers in the Woodland Realm.”

Had Elrond been a little more crude and mannish, his tongue surely would have slipped. The words _what kind of hallucinogenic mushrooms have you been eating, you crazy ass forest fairy_ flicker in various degrees of severity through Elrond’s mind. _Kinslayers_? That sort of thing has not been discussed for thousands of years, least of all among friends of mixed-race.

_‘Elbereth, how I want to call you out on that. Sweeeet mercy, there is definitely something wrong with your head, Thranduil.’_ Thranduil does not acknowledge that he has struck a nerve but instead smirks at the rage boiling beneath Elrond’s countenance. Fingers flex and a rigid, straight posture shivers to remain in control. Elrond can hear Brelin snickering behind him. _The little shit._

“For Eru’s sake, I’m not going to kill anyone! Come now, I’ve never known you to be this paranoid.”

“There are many things you’ve never known… and will never know. A week in the guest rooms, and food if you need it. Is that all?”

The lines around Elrond’s eyes deepen with how tight his muscles are straining. “Yes.” In the Woodland Realm, he cannot scream into pillows to express his utter frustration and indignance. He must wait until the free lands of Middle-Earth accept him on his travels so he might howl at the wind until his heart is unburdened. Thranduil gestures to Brelin with two fingers. “Take him to the lower guest rooms.” He then speaks to a nearby guard. “You, go tell the gatekeepers to let Elrond’s sons in. Wouldn’t want to keep such… dangerous folk waiting.”

Elrond bites his tongue and makes a sound like a drowning mouse in a bucket of tar. “Gnnh.”

 

~

 

“You must both be careful while we are here. I don’t want either of you to be stressed, but this is not the Greenwood of old where travelers were not hunted the moment they crossed the borders.” In the guest rooms (few in number but lavishly decorated) Elrond sits on the large bed with both his sons. Elladan and Elrohir usually sleep together but as there is only one bed available, they do not mind sharing with their father. “I suspect foul play and secrecy afoot in Thranduil’s life… while it is not my place to pry, I have great concern for his son Legolas above all else.”

“What about us?” The twins lean into Elrond from both sides, poking at his shoulders for an answer.

“Why would I speak of your safety first if I did not care about you two?” Shaking his head, Elrond pulls his sons into a big, warm hug. “I just worry for Legolas more than his father. You know how the Sindar can be when it comes to their family…”

“Ah, yes. I remember daeradar following you around whenever you and naneth went places together…”

“Protective indeed.” Elrohir echoes his own thoughts after his brother while Elladan nods. “We will remain cautious, Adar. Do not worry.” His hand creeps up to draw a thumb across Elrond’s forehead, tracing the tension there. “Stop frowning…”

Elrond tries to relax but he can do no more than wriggle his eyebrows around. “Ai… that high-maintenance princeling I knew now gets to be a King. If I don’t frown out my disapproval, I shall bite my own face off.”

The twins have never heard their father speak like this and exchange worried glances. Elrond only hugs them tighter. “I jest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kekkeroni I really REALLY ship Elrond with his sons. Hell, even Aragorn and Arwen (lol). But this fic is all about Thrandolas, so you will not find any of my depraved fondnesses here. Just.. um... more Thrandolas. HHEEHHH  
> Elf families sleeping together though. +1 cute patoot
> 
> next chapter will come late, I am creatively blocked once again...


	9. Spooky Scary Kinslayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Noldor aren't so bad. Not the ones of the Third Age, definitely.

Two days pass and Elrond is looked after well enough by Thranduil’s sevants, who are glad to have _someone_ to take care of. Elladan and Elrohir make the most of the unconditional service they are offered and listen to tales late into the night as their father plans his strategy. They know not of Elrond’s deep concern for Legolas, the elf he’d never seen yet had dreamt of one night. Wine and mirth consume their waking hours, for soon enough they will journey to Rohan and yearn for a moment’s rest.

On the third day, Elrond goes wandering around the palace. His sons will wait by the gates of the Woodland Realm in a few hours, so he has time to snoop around. If necessary, he will run.

 _‘Vilya, give me strength. Today is the day.’_ Golden light flickers to the left and he pauses, a shadow suddenly cast into the hall. There are servants about so he cannot just flatten himself against a wall – rather, he strides around the corner and steps onto a balcony, where Thranduil sits with his son. Legolas’s back is turned to Elrond, and he appears to be very, very focussed on the sight before him. Endless forest green and a few yellow tones. Mirkwood’s glorious canopy. Elrond’s sharp eyes can see just to the edge of it, and the faded outline of the Misty Mountains looms in the distance. Thranduil’s red-tipped ear twitches at the sound of Elrond’s breathing. He does not speak. His hand laying atop Legolas’s pale fingers makes a scratching motion, reflecting a process of deep thought.

When Elrond walks closer, around the right hand side of Thranduil’s chair, a gentle murmur floats on the breeze.

“Say hello, ion nin. Lord Elrond has been wishing to speak with you for a while.”

Thranduil’s head turns slowly and in a deliberate motion to lock eyes with Elrond. His hand is at the back of Legolas’s head, forcing his neck to a somewhat conversational angle. There sit the King and Prince, soaking up the sun with highlights shining in their hair and robes in perfect order. Elrond takes one look at Legolas and suppresses a scream.  
He breathes. In, out. Shuddering, in again. Then he speaks.

“Thranduil, your son is dead. He has been for quite some time now…”

Thranduil bats his long, dark eyelashes at Elrond as if he intends to seduce him, but that is only a natural part of his appearance. Confused, Thranduil tilts his head to the side. He has not lost his ancient, serene grace in all these years. Darkness blooms in his deep grey eyes.

“Whatever do you mean? My little leaf is quite fine, as you can see. Now get on with your conversation, unless you no longer hold the interest you did a few days ago.” Thranduil’s words speed up as if he only wants Elrond to hurry, talk and leave. These moments with Legolas are precious, after all. They all are. He recreates them every single day so he does not forget.

“Open your eyes, Thranduil. Look at his face.” Elrond gestures politely to Legolas’s gaunt, pale face and sunken eyes. There is slight bruising on Legolas’s cheekbones where he has fallen or been scrubbed clean. Elrond has no idea what Thranduil has done to him. The clothes Legolas wears hang from his withered form. “He, ah… appears to have starved to death.” _‘Quite a feat for an elf.’_

Thranduil shakes his head without looking at his son. The loving ease in which he strokes the back of Legolas’s head with fingers through his hair is enough to remind him of the connection they share. This being beside him is his own flesh and blood, more beautiful than any mortal could hope to be. To Thranduil, most of the Eldar do not even come _close_ to Legolas.

_‘Elrond has nice eyebrows and a kind smile, but does not know what he’s talking about. Oh, what am I supposed to do now? He… wait, does he mean to insult Legolas? I cannot detect ill intent in the way he speaks… but he is crafty, very much so…’_

Elrond has nowhere to sit and leans on the balcony railing as Thranduil regards him with suspicion and distrust.

“Be at ease, mellon nín. I only want you to see.”

“Enough of that.” With a dismissive gesture, Thranduil pushes Elrond’s words away. He nods to the bottle of wine on the table. An empty glass waits to be filled. “You talk too much.”

“As always…” Elrond mutters and picks up the glass with a shake of his head. Thranduil watches the steady crimson stream of thick, sweet wine that is more like syrup than a proper drink. It is enough to get him drunk in a few glasses. He wonders what it will do to Elrond.

An hour later, both Thranduil and Elrond are talking and laughing like the old friends they used to be. All doubts are cast aside and Elrond finds himself tolerating a bit of Thranduil’s flirting, though he does not forget about Legolas. How can he, when Thranduil talks about him all the time? Legolas this, Legolas that. I did this, Legolas loves that. I sleep with my son, my son does not breathe. Elrond listens with a quirky grin on his face, muted in comparison to Thranduil’s toothy smile.

“Jeeeshj. I.. ah, more wine. I shall fetch a servant! They’re never here when I need them.” Thranduil staggers as he nearly falls from his seat, caught only by his refined balance. The moment he’s out of sight, Elrond thanks the stars Thranduil was already quite tipsy when they began to drink and concentrates his will towards a single act. He lifts up Legolas into his arms, touching only cloth with his bare hands. Then he vaults over the balcony railing, swift and sure. He lands in a massive bush of white flowers, somewhere in a private garden on the outside of the Woodland Realm. Thranduil’s kingdom is built into a hill with beautiful plant life thriving all the way to the forest floor. Darkness does not come past the enchanted river. For now, Elrond is safe. His ass hurts a little but it is nothing some improvised healing cannot fix. Under his breath he chants with melody to empower his muscles to carry on, for the pain to be stayed and his strength to triumph. The flowers quiver as Elrond rolls away, guarding Legolas from view with his body. He senses Elladan and Elrohir in the distance, along with a few of Thranduil’s folk. No-one can see him here, and the bushes are lush enough to hide ten tall elves. He kneels, panting. Then he lays a hand on the prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty so here you are with your choice of three endings!!!  
> 1) Angst/Alone  
> 2) Peace/Togetherness  
> 3) Neutral/Recovery
> 
> Comment which one you want me to finish first and I'll upload it ^_^  
> Thank you for /stay/ing with me for so long ;)


	10. The Endings

Alright everyone ^_^ here are links to each of the endings. Number 3 got the most votes (lol) so I will write it first, but Number 2 will also be available soon. The endings have multiple chapters and are separate works in the series of "Stay".

There are also plot summaries if you need them. They are spoilers, but a decent enough outline of how each ending will play out.

 

**Ending 1: Angst/Alone [might upload this one next year lel]  
**

Summary: (This one is very VERY farfetched) <https://docs.google.com/document/d/1EN_o_LeMxKbBPvgWiaj_r_elRIWvc6dD3HHN-3loreY/edit?usp=sharing>

 

**Ending 2: Peace/Togetherness [ _http://archiveofourown.org/works/4672787/_ ]  
**

Summary: (For those of you who like creepy fluff...) <https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dWa1tNIhT08-YNd2Ps16uOJDDfqu-XWh7ZM-u5EMhn4/edit?usp=sharing>

 

**Ending 3: Neutral/Recovery [ _<http://archiveofourown.org/works/4666239/>_ ]  
**

Summary: (There are dark elements in here.) <https://docs.google.com/document/d/1YGiSJZuBeGoIcmLBV9cgItrUv_vGGQH5bma4aSPRIt4/edit?usp=sharing>

 

 

Ayy lmao! Some of the endings may be unsatisfying to you, but pls don’t flame! I am try! *^* [sweats nervously] I might get one chapter done a week at this rate hurghgh

 

Btw. Only ending 2 has smut. It also offers an insight into Thranduil and Legolas’s past sexual experiences together~


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